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FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
WILLIAM  A.SETCHELL,i864-i943 

PROFESSOR  OF  BOTANY 


THE  ORACLE 


A  MUSIC-DRAMA 


By 

PETER  ROBERTSON 

and 

HUMPHREY  J.  STEWART 


BOHEMIA 

MCMX 


THE  ORACLE 


A  Music-Drama  especially  written  for 
and  first  produced  at  the  dedication  of 
the  new  home  of  the  Bohemian  Club, 
San  Francisco,  on  Saturday,  November 
the  twelfth,  nineteen  hundred  and  ten. 


Book  by  PETER  ROBERTSON 
Music  by  H.  J.  STEWART 

H.  MCDONALD  SPENCER 

Euterpe,  Muse  of  Song  -       WYATT  ALLEN 

Thalia,  Muse  of  Comedy  -  -      J.  C.  DORNIN 

Calliope,  Muse  of  Poetry          -  -       HARRIS   ALLEN 

Messenger  of  the  Lares       -  -       FRANK   MITCHELL 

(    -  -    FRANK  P.  DEERING 

E.  COURTNEY  FORD 

FRANK  ONSLOW 

)          -        CARL  E.  ANDERSON 

Assistant  Priests  of  Apollo  <  REGINALD  E.  G.  KEENE 

-   HENRY  L.  PERRY 

Attendant  of  Bohemia  ROY   RYONE 

Bohemia    -  ALLAN    DUNN 

Chorus  of  Greek  Populace 

Dramatic  Ensemble  by  ALLAN    DUNN 
Stage  Manager,  WM.  H.  SMITH 
Scenery,  GEORGE   LYONS 
Lighting,  ED.  J.  DUFFEY 


Copyright,  1910,  by 
Peter  Robertson  and  Humphrey  J.  Stewart. 

Printed  for  private  publication. 


THE  ORACLE 


Interior  of  a  Temple  of  Apollo.  At  the  baek  is  the  Shrine  of 
the  Oracle.  It  is  nightfall  and  the  assemblage  is  present  at  the  appeal 
to  the  Oracle  of  a  stranger  from  a  far  off  country. 

Eternal  Mystery,  the  Mystery  of  Fate  ! 

The  Temple's  silence,  vibrant,  trembles  in  its  awe  ; 

The  craven  hearts  of  men  stand  still  'twixt  fear  and  hope; 

They  quake  before  the  Unseen  Presence  of  the  Gods  ; 

The  Gods,  at  whose  brief  nod  the  destinies  of  men 

In  misery  sink  or  to  a  triumph  glorious  rise. 

By  Will  divine  the  shuttle  noiseless  weaves  the  web  ; 
By  Will  divine  the  blending  strands  take  hue  and  shade; 
By  Will  divine  the  fatal  shears  their  angles  close  ; 
So  mortals  die  and  pass  as  falls  the  severed  thread. 
As  secret  as  the  farthest  future  of  our  days, 
The  moment  of  our  lives  that  lies  so  close  beyond. 

Dust  of  our  Mother  Earth,  our  Frames  ! 
Breath  of  the  Gods,  our  Souls  ! 
Oh,  gift  divine!  and  by  that  gift  alone 
Mortals  may  pray  and  Deities  attend. 

Powers  who,  with  the  unuttered  thought,  create; 

Powers  who,  with  the  unuttered  wish,  destroy  ; 

For  all  our  weakness  be  ye  pitiful  ! 

For  all  our  mortal  evil,  merciful  ! 

Grant  us  what  Gods  and  men  alike  may  crave, 

Eternal  Happiness! 

Enter  the  High  and  Attendant  Priests. 

THE  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 

Glorious  Apollo! 
From  thy  Celestial  Orb 
All  being  springs. 


(3) 


M235583 


Thy  gentle  beam,  wooing  the  clod. 

Charms  from  the  sullen  clay 

Leaf,  flower,  and  fruit. 

The  eyes  of  mortals,  touched  by  thy  pure  ray 

As  with  a  spell, 

Behold  a  world  all  loveliness. 

'Twas  thus  the  Gods,  in  love,  into  men's  frames  breathed  life. 

Through  beauty  still  thou  speakest  to  men's  souls. 

TWO  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 

The  Source  of  Life  the  Gods  have  made  thy  charge; 

Thou  see'st  far  into  the  fates  of  men; 

Even  to  the  end,  if  that  there  be  an  end ! 

To  thee  no  time,  no  distance  nor  to  thee 

The  Future,  nor  the  Present,  nor  the  Past. 

All  is  as  if  'twere  one.     Thy  Prophecy, 

The  unsealed  purpose  of  the  Gods. 

TWO  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 

The  spheres  at  thy  command  make  music, 
And  the  sweet,  melodious  strains 
That  move  men's  souls  on  earth 
Spring  from  thy  lyre  divine ! 

THE  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS  AND  THE  CHORUS 

Glorious  Apollo! 

Thy  chariot  wheels  to  mortal  ears  unheard, 

Thy  steeds  unseen; 

Thine  Orb  of  Fire  Celestial  silent  rolls; 

From  jocund  Earth  springs  Life  all  beautiful; 

And,  from  the  hearts  of  men,  a  song  of  joy, 

Swayed  by  thy  lyre 

To  music  of  the  spheres. 

But  by  thy  Will,  through  this,  thine  Oracle, 

May  mortals  trembling  peer  into  their  fates. 

Here  at  thy  shrine  we  wait  in  awe 

The  mystic  message  from  the  Infinite! 

THE  PRIESTS 
Apollo,  Hear! 


(4) 


Apollo,  Hear! 

THE  PRIESTS 
Apollo,  Hear! 

THE  CHORUS 
Apollo,  Hear! 

THE   PRIESTS 
Apollo,  Hear! 

THE  CHORUS 
Apollo,  Hear ! 

A  light  begins  to  glow  within  the  shrine. 

THE  CHORUS 
The  Oracle! 

THE  CHORUS 

The  radiant  light,  light  of  the  God, 

Glows  from  the  shrine; 

Through  dazzled  eyes  of  mortals 

Pierces  to  their  souls  ! 

The  Oracle ! 

Our  prayers  are  heard  ! 

A  HIGH  PRIEST 
The  God  will  speak! 

THE  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 

Who  would  consult  the  Oracle, 

And  tempt  the  hidden  secret  of  his  fate  ? 

BOHEMIA 
I! 

Enter  Bohemia. 

t 

(5) 


A  HIGH  PRIEST 
Who  art  thou? 

BOHEMIA 

From  a  far  off  land  I  come ! 

A  HIGH  PRIKST 

There  is  no  far  off  land;  unto  the  Gods 

All  lands  are  near ! 

What  would'st  thou  know? 

Hast  thou  an  argosy  upon  the  deep? 

Would'st  ask  the  Gods  to  search  a  woman's  heart? 

Or  dost  thou  crave  a  boon  for  thine  own  self? 

BOHEMIA 

No  argosy  have  I; 

Nor  care  I  for  the  beat  of  woman's  heart. 

No  boon  I  crave.     I  would  but  ask 

The  counsel  of  the  God. 

My  country  is  Bohemia  ! 

There  have  we  raised  a  temple. 

Consecrate — 

A  HIGH  PRIEST 
The  God  has  read  thy  thought ! 

THE  CHORUS 

The  God  has  read  thy  thought. 
The  Oracle! 

VOICE   OF  THE   ORACLE 

What  thou  see'st  is  not  seen. 
What  thou  knowest  is  not  known. 
What  thou  doest  is  not  done. 

BOHEMIA 

The  words  I  hear.     Their  meaning  mystic 
As  the  shrine. 


(6) 


A  HIGH  PRIEST 

The  Temple  which  thine  eyes  behold  is  all  unseen. 
Thy  purpose  is  not  finite  as  thy  knowledge  is. 
Thy  consecration  is  an  act  that  never  ends. 

BOHEMIA 
Still  do  I  listen  ! 

THE  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 

The  Temples  of  the  Gods  are  in  men's  souls. 

Theirs  not  the  What  them  cloest.  but  the  Why. 

Nor  carved  stones,  nor  pillars,  nor  the  festive  halls. 

The  music  nor  the  laughter;  nor  the  light  heart, 

Nor  even  the  kind  deed, 

Xor  aught  thou  showest  outwardly;  but  only  this, 

Thy  thought,  its  meaning,  and  the  spirit  of  thine  act ! 

BOHEMIA 

We  are  but  mortals,  and  to  mortals  is  forbid 
Perfection  of  the  Gods.     Yet  would  we  strive  that  so 
Our  thought,  its  meaning,  and  the  spirit  of  our  act 
May  for  Bohemia  win  the  favor  of  the  Fates. 

VOICE   OF  THE   ORACLE 
Thy  fate  is  not  in  thee. 

BOHEMIA 
Again  thy  words  are  mystic. 

A  HIGH  PRIEST 

The  wind  that  steals  away  the  vagrant  seed 
Changes  its  destiny. 

A  HIGH  PRIEST 

The  stream  that  gently  murmurs  through  the  glen 
Bears  many  a  fate. 

BOHEMIA 
These  be  the  things  that  have  no  souls.     I  speak  of  Men  ! 


(7) 


THE  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 

The  Gods  have  made  Mankind,  not  Men; 

Each  soul  its  own,  to  render  back 

Stained  or  unstained ; 

The  peril  theirs ! 

That  fire  divine,  which  Men  call  Life, 

Is  but  the  spirit  of  the  Universe. 


BOHEMIA 
Yet  for  all  Men  are  fates — 

A  HIGH  PRIEST 

The  Fates  weave  not  the  future. 
Out  of  each  moment  is  a  moment  born ; 
Inheritor  of  every  splendor,  grace,  or  taint 
Of  all  the  aeons  Men  have  known  as  time. 
That  moment  is  thy  fate ! 

BOHEMIA 
The  Gods  have  woven  the  aeons ! 

A  HIGH   PRIEST 

Men  make  Men's  fates !     The  Furies,  Men ! 
Each  thought  and  act  is  fate, 
Not  for  thyself  alone,  but  for  thy  Fellowman, 
Oh,  purblind  race,  the  Gods  pursue  you  not. 
The  Will  of  High  Olympus  is  the  Law ! 


So  have  the  Gods  of  High  Olympus  made  Mankind, 

Souls,  kindred  to  themselves,  chained  in  coarse  frames  of  clay, 

The  Creatures  of  a  Law,  now  cruel  and  now  kind : 

A  Law  inscrutable,  Men  must  not  comprehend ! 

The  high  ideal  nursed  within  the  soul,  and  sought. 

With  eager  will,  is  but  a  dream.     It  is  the  Law ! 

The  sentient  thrill  of  beauty,  throbbing  for  an  hour, 

Turns  into  pain  as  beauty  fades.     It  is  the  Law! 

The  hope  that  stirs  the  souls  of  men  becomes  a  pang. 

All  bitter  as  it  vanishes.     It  is  the  Law! 


(8) 


The  love  twixt  man  and  woman  that  brings  joy  untold 

Its  own  keen  shafts  of  torture  bears.     It  is  the  Law ! 

The  mother's  heart  that,  o'er  her  offspring,  beats  with  bliss 

Beats  faster  with  an  unknown  fear.     It  is  the  Law ! 

The  blessing  that,  with  all  our  earnest  prayer,  we  crave 

Comes  not;  but  in  its  place,  howe'er  'tis  undeserved, 

There  falls  the  blow  we  dreamed  not  of.     It  is  the  Law ! 

The  will  to  do  all  kindness,  owning  not  the  means ; 

The  right  that  turns  to  wrong;  the  good  deed  misconstrued. 

Changed  into  ill ;  the  ill  deed  done  that  we  revenge ; 

The  ill  deed  done  that  we  forgive ;  all  might  not  be ! 

Life  knows  no  everlasting  or  unsullied  joy! 

It  is  the  Law! 


THE  CHORUS 


Bold  is  Bohemia! 
He  flouts  the  Gods ! 


BOHEMIA 


I  do  not  flout  the  Gods !     All  reverently  I  speak. 
"\  he  grain  of  dust  beneath  the  avalanche  were  more 
Than  I,  did  but  the  Gods  of  High  Olympus  breathe. 


THE  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 
The  God  is  patient ! 

VOICE   OF  THE   ORACLE 
The  stones  of  earth  have  reason  in  them. 


Thou  comest  of  the  race  Deucalion  raised 
By  Jove's  command. 

THE  CHORUS 

In  Ancient  Days, 

The  World  was  Paradise, 

So  fair,  the  Gods  abode  with  men, 

And  filled  their  life  with  radiance 

As  of  Heaven. 

(9) 


Till,  in  the  Age  of  Iron, 
Drunk  with  false  pride 
Of  the  Celestial  favor, 
Men  defied  the  Gods, 
Stained  the  fair  World 
With  sin  and  crime, 
Dared  to  probe 
Into  great  Nature's  secrets, 
And  disdained 
Even  Jove  himself ! 

Then  rose  the  God  in  rage  majestic, 
Hurling  forth  the  storm, 
With  flood  tempestuous,  He 
Swept  them  to  Chaos ! 

From  stones  of  earth 
Deucalion  cast  behind, 
Jove  framed  a  race  anew ; 
Made  them  know  pain  ; 
They  might  not  then  forget 
Mortality. 

BOHEMIA 

Within  my  soul  I  feel  but  reverent  fear  and  awe, 
My  words  a  prayer ! 

VOICE   OF  THE   ORACLE 

Who  would  dispute  the  Means 
Should  know  the  End. 

A  HIGH  PRIEST 

Men's  craving  is  not  prayer. 

The  Gods  are  just. 

Men  pray  for  their  desire, 

Not  knowing  oft  th'  injustice  of  the  wish. 

A  HIGH  PRIEST 

Thou  may'st  deserve; 

But  thy  deserving  given, 

From  others  may  take  that  they  more  deserve. 

Thou  canst  not  know ! 

(10) 


THE  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 

The  knowledge  that  thou  seekest 

Is  not  for  thy  good ! 

The  zest  of  life  lies  ever  in  suspense. 

The  ill  foreknown  kills  every  joy 

That  comes  between; 

The  happiness  foreseen 

Is  in  anticipation  lost. 

Without  the  sorrow,  who  could  know  the  joy; 

Without  the  misery,  who  could  happy  be? 

THE  CHORUS 

The  thrill  of  beauty  lives  within  the  pain ; 
Behind  the  pang,  the  pleasure  of  new  hope ; 
Twice  sweet  the  love  that  is  from  torture  freed ; 
The  mother's  bliss  would  into  folly  turn, 
But  for  the  unknown  fear; 
The  wrong  is  oft  the  right ; 
The  right  oft  wrong; 

The  ill  deed  more  a  blessing  than  the  good, 
The  Gods  alone  may  know ! 

BOHEMIA 

Men  still  seek  happiness ;  since  by  thy  Law  alone. 
May  mortals   make  the  lesser  part  of  life  the  pain, 
We  crave  thy  counsel.     Let  us  know  but  how  to  live ! 

VOICE   OF  THE   ORACLE 
Turn  to  thyself ! 

A  HIGH   PRIEST 

The  Gods  have  given  thee  reason.     Since  it  leads 
Thee  to  pursue  the  Mysteries  for  thy  Good, 
And  for  thy  Purpose  High,  thy  boldness  is  forgiven ! 
The  Law  thou  hast. 

THE  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 

Upon  thy  Conscience  carved, 

As  on  a  stone,  thou  hast  the  Law, 

So  often,  unconsidered,  conned, 


(11) 


That  its  Commandments  pass 

Like  proverbs  without  meaning 

From  each  tongue. 

Read  thou  thy  Conscience, 

Therein  shalt  thou  find 

This  Law ! 

THE  CHORUS 

In  bounds  and  limits  all  things  work  for  good. 

Love  well,  but  be  not  blind 

To  evil  that  love  may  beget. 

Hate  thou,  but  pity  still, 

The  evil  man  as  evil  thing. 

The  ill,  when  'tis  revenged 

Is  all  undone ; 

The  ill  with  patience  met 

Falls  on  its  source. 

The  kindness  willed 

Without  the  means 

Is  more  than  kindness 

That  seeks  gratitude. 

Seek  not  reward  ; 

Who  seeks  reward 

May  merit  punishment. 

So  follow  thou  the  Good, 

And  leave  thy  soul 

To  judgment  of  the  Power  Supreme, 

Who  knoweth  all ! 

BOHEMIA 

The  Gods  are  Wisdom ;  wise  must  be  the  end. 
I  ask  no  more  but  strength  to  do  thy  will. 

VOICE   OF  THE   ORACLE 
What  thou  hast,  thou  shalt  receive ! 

A  HIGH   PRIEST 

The  Gods  have  loved  thee  long,  Bohemia, 

Through  all  thy  mortal  failings, 

Still  thy  aims  approved. 

The  Muses  long  have  dwelt  with  thee, 

(12) 


And  now  renew  the  gifts 
They  gave  thee  at  thy  birth. 
The  Muse  of  Song  salutes  thee ! 

Euterpe  enters  and  presents  the  L\re. 

THE   CHORUS 

Hail,  Muse  of  Song! 

Harmony  Infinite ! 

Thou  quellest  all  things  base; 

To  thy  mysterious  thrill 

The  pulses  of  the  Universe  keep  time; 

The  Earth  inanimate  throbs  at  thy  sound ; 

The  mortal  frame,  vibrant  beneath  the  spell 

Thou  castest  on  the  soul,  becomes  a  lyre. 

Hail,  Muse  of  Song! 

Exit  Euterpe 

A  HIGH   PRIEST 
Thalia  greets  thee ! 

Thalia  enters  and  gives  the  Mask. 

THE   CHORUS 

Hail,  Muse  of  Comedy  ! 

Thy  mimic  power  plays  on  the  lives  of  men, 

Thy  smiling  mask  oft  hiding  purpose  grave; 

Thy  keen  shafts  prick  the  bubble  of  the  vain, 

Shame  base  hypocrisy,  and  at  thy  laugh 

Things  sordid  shrink  to  naught. 

The  merriment  of  life  is  thine,  and  oft 

Thou  bringest  men  the  tear  wrapt  in  the  smile. 

Hail,  Muse  of  Comedy, 

Hail!  Hail! 

Exit  Thalia 

A  HIGH   PRIEST 
The  Muse  of  Poetry  crowns  thee ! 

Enter  Calliope  and  gives  the  Scroll. 

(13) 


THE   CHORUS 

Hail,  Muse  of  Poetry ! 

The  soul  of  all  things  dost  thou  find, 

And  lo!  all  things  are  beautiful, 

The  shining  green  of  hill  and  plain, 

The  barren  rock,  the  mountain  rill, 

The  raging  torrent,  and  the  roaring  main, 

Lo  !  thou  art  there  ! 

The  grosser  life  of  man  knows  not  of  thee ; 

Thou  ever  art  in  him  whose  soul  is  pure; 

And  in  that  soul  there  lies  thy  noblest  theme, 

The  Infinite ! 

Hail,  Muse  of  Poetry, 

Hail!  Hail! 

Exit  Calliope 

BOHEMIA 

To  be  but  worthy  these,  is  gift  divine! 
These  sacred  do  I  hold, 
To  thy  High  Purpose  consecrate 
Now  and  forever. 

A  HIGH  PRIEST 

Yet  one  more  message  have  the  Gods  for  thee ! 

Thy  Lares  welcome  thee ! 

Spirits  of  those,  whom,  from  Bohemia, 

The  Gods  have  ta'en,  and  for  their  love  of  thee 

Lent  to  thee  still,  thy  Watch  and  Guard! 

A  HIGH  PRIEST 
Hearken !  they  speak ! 

THE  CHORUS  OF  THE  LARES 

Though  you  no  more  behold  us,  no  more  hear 

Our  voices  echoing  through  the  festal  halls 

In  song  and  jest  and  laughter;  cannot  know 

The  love  in  which  we  left  you  still  is  yours, 

The  Gods  have  willed  that  we  our  memories  hold, 

Of  all  the  glow  and  warmth  of  genial  soul 

That  is  Bohemia  !     Willed  that  for  our  love 


(14) 


We  should  around  you  hover  evermore, 

Cluster  about  your  hearth,  your  Household  Gods ! 

Your  revels  and  your  moments  of  grave  speech. 

The  merry  hour,  the  peace  unspeakable, 

The  ever  kindly  thought,  the  generous  deed, 

We  have  our  part  in,  though  you  know  it  not. 

Hold  to  these  ever!     Let  no  discord  be, 

To  mar  Bohemia's  loving  harmony ! 

Enter  the  Messenger  of  the  Lares,  bearing  mantle. 

The    High    Priests    invest    Bohemia    with    the    mantle,    on    the 
breadth  of  which  is  emblazoned  an  owl. 


THE  MESSENGER 

This  gift  thy  Lares  send,  symbol  of  attribute, 
Nearest  the  Gods,  Love  of  thy  Fellowman ! 


THE  ATTENDANT  PRIESTS 

The  Gods  made  life  the  sunshine; 

Care  and  pain  but  passing  clouds. 

They  ask  no  sacrifice ;  better  far  they  love 

Those  who  with  garlands  deck  the  shrine ! 


THE  MESSENGER  OF  THE  LARES 

With  wreath  of  bay  thy  brows  are  crowned ; 
With  gift  of  song  thou  art  endowed; 
Thalia's  mirthful  mask  is  thine; 
Still  take  thou  heed  of  what  they  Lares  send ! 

Be  thou  but  true ! 

Open  wide  thy  heart  to  all  the  joys  of  life  ; 

Spare  not  the  pleasures  that  the  Gods  may  send ! 

Thy  happy  revelry  can  hold  no  strife 

With  graver  purpose ;  all  things  work  their  end ! 

Forget  not  that,  without  thee,  there  is  pain, 
And  care  forever  hovers  round  thy  door; 
That  sympathy  bears  sorrow  in  its  train; 
And  others'  woes  but  draw  them  to  thee  more ! 

(15) 


Within  thee  let  the  weary  soul  find  rest, 
The  saddened  spirit  lighten  with  thy  cheer; 
Love  of  thy  Fellowman,  be  that  thy  best 
And  chiefest  virtue,  by  the  Gods  held  dear. 
Be  thou  but  true! 

BOHEMIA 

So  to  the  Will  and  Purpose  of  the  Highest  Good 
Is  our  Bohemia's  Fane  forever  dedicate ! 
The  Gods  have  said ! 

Apollo    appears,   Bohemia    kneels    before    the   shrine   as   Apollo 
crowns  him  ivitli  his  fillet. 


THE   PRIESTS 

With  fairest  garlands  wreathe  Bohemia's  walls, 
Let  joy  re-echo  through  Bohemia's  halls, 
The  paean  raise ! 

Praise  ye  the  Power  Supreme, 

The  Power  Omnipotent ! 

Around  whose  throne  the  Universes  swing 

In  harmony  sublime ! 

Life  infinite  dwells  in  Him, 

And  from  his  store 

He  peoples  the  unnumbered  worlds. 

Praise  ye  the  Power  Allseeing,  who,  on  high, 
Men's  lives  through  tortuous  ways, 
Guides  to  His  End, 
His  End  the  Good ! 

Praise  ye  the  Power  Omniscient, 

Wisdom  Absolute ! 

Whose  law  benign, 

If  men  but  heed, 

Leads  to  immortal  bliss ! 

With  songs  of  joy 
Praise  ye  Bohemia's  God, 
His  Will  be  done! 

(The  End) 


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